


Let It Snow

by Bohemienne



Series: Ficmas 2016 [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Frottage, Howling Commandos - Freeform, M/M, Oral Sex, Period-Typical Homophobia, Snowed In, Stucky Secret Santa 2016, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-11 23:19:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9040646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bohemienne/pseuds/Bohemienne
Summary: After a Howling Commandos mission goes bad, Steve and Bucky get stranded in an abandoned Swiss skiing village. They find a way to pass the time until the blizzard subsides.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gingertintedglasses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingertintedglasses/gifts).



> For [@murderonthemattress](http://murderonthemattress.tumblr.com), my 2016 Stucky Secret Santa recipient, and for all the Hopeless-geek/Bxckmebxrnes stream chatters who wanted snowed in sexytimes <3 Merry Ficmas!

**Let It Snow**

 

Bucky is just starting to calculate how many days they could survive on snow, and if they’d die of starvation or the cold first, when somewhere up ahead through the haze of the blizzard he hears Steve say “Oh. Shit.”

Bucky’s not even on his last nerve. He burned his last nerve about two hours ago, somewhere back on the road out of Lausanne, when he somehow managed to trip over his wounded leg and land on their only working radio. He’s used to being angry at himself for those kinds of colossal screw-ups. But whatever’s got Steve upset—

“The compass,” Steve says. He’s not even a foot away from Bucky, but he’s only a dark blur in the snowfall. “I think the vibranium’s affecting it.”

Bucky swears a thick tuft of white into the air.

“I’m so sorry. And I know we’ve got to get you off that leg.” Steve adjusted his scarf. “I don’t know how far off-course we’ve gotten. But I could swear I saw a skiing village further up the mountainside.”

“Up?” Bucky asks, a queasy feeling in his stomach.

“Yeah.” Steve looks him over. Bucky can’t get a sense of his expression behind the scarf and goggles and helmet—to say nothing of his own—but he thinks Steve’s shoulders are tensing. “I could . . . carry you.”

An ugly laugh bursts out of him. Steve, who’s never so much as touched him in years, aside from Bucky drunkenly slinging his arm around him a few times. Okay, and kissing Steve’s cheek. Trying to work up the nerve to do more. But there was never enough booze in all the world.

“Why the fuck not,” Bucky says.

Steve scoops him up, as easy as if he were kindling, and cradles Bucky to his chest. Bucky slings his arms around Steve’s neck, because what the fuck else is he going to do?

“Always wanted to be carried around by a big strong guy,” he teases, cold and pain robbing his last bit of good sense, but Steve just rolls his eyes.

“Such a flirt,” Steve grumbles.

 _Ain’t just flirting with you,_ Bucky thinks, but at least knows better than to say it out loud. Instead, he nestles up against Steve and braces himself for the run. Steve’s so warm, impossibly warm even through the thick padded layers of his uniform, and his breath’s like a furnace as he takes off at a sprint up the mountainside. But for all his speed, he moves smoothly, gracefully even, and Bucky just wants to keep holding on to him. Doesn’t even want it to end.

Somewhere, in the haze of the churned-up snow and the dark pines, Bucky must fall asleep, or lose consciousness; either way, it’s with Steve’s face so close to his that he can almost imagine the taste of Steve’s lips.

 

*

 

Bucky wakes up on something _soft_ and for a second he can’t remember where he is. He thrashes around until the pain shoots up his leg. If he’s back in the medical ward—if they’re coming for him again—

But then he sees Steve, stripped down into his longjohns and socks, crouched over a roaring fireplace. The heat of the blaze paints Bucky’s face and thaws the stiffness in his toes. Huh—his toes. He looks down; he’s been stripped down to his longjohns, too. “Stevie,” Bucky says, his voice hoarse. “Have you been undressin’ me?”

Steve glances back at him, color high on his cheeks. “Don’t get too excited, Buck. Your uniform was soaked through.”

“Excited. Sure.” Bucky settled back into the sofa where he was sprawled. But now he couldn’t push the thought from his head: Steve’s fingers working open the buttons of his navy coat; his hands easing down his trousers . . .

Bucky grunted and yanked the thick wool blanket up to his chin.

“The ski resort had been mostly pillaged,” Steve says, once he’s done poking at his fire. “But a couple of the chalets were in decent condition. This one included.”

“Like we’re proper high society,” Bucky says.

“We’re only borrowing it.” Steve stands up and brushes the soot from the thighs of his longjohns, and Bucky tries not to let his gaze linger on those thick thighs. “But we might have to borrow it for a while. Blizzard’s only gotten worse.”

“Blizzard . . . ? Oh.” Bucky glances toward the white squares he hadn’t realized were windows. “Shit.”

“Yeah. So I hope their cellar’s well-stocked.”

Steve steps toward the sofa and crouches down beside Bucky. His hair’s sticking every which way after sweating in his helmet for hours, and he smells musky and flushed, and yet it’s the goddamned sweetest thing Bucky’s ever smelled. Hell, it’s not like he smells much better, he’s sure. If Steve minds, though, he doesn’t show it. He looks right at Bucky with those gorgeous blue eyes and ruffles Bucky’s hair with his fingers.

“You doing okay?” Steve asks softly. It’s his commanding captain’s voice, but there’s something else behind it. Bucky would like to think it’s concern. Bucky would _like_ to think it’s a lot of things. But knowing Steve, he’s probably just checking that he’ll be good to move as soon as they’re able to dig themselves out.

Bucky flexes his foot, then rotates it. The muscles in his calf pull and stretch, still stinging from the wound, but it hurts way less than it did a few hours ago. Suspiciously less. Maybe the adrenaline’s still pulsing through him to deaden the pain.

“Yeah, I’m gonna be just fine.” He forces a weak smile. “Sorry for the inconvenience, Cap.”

Steve smiles back, his hand still on Bucky’s head. “You’re never an inconvenience.” Bucky swallows, his throat tight, but Steve stands up before he can respond. “Let me go find us some food.”

Bucky stares around the chalet while Steve heads down to the cellar stores to rummage. The fire is comforting, but he can feel the cold radiating from the door behind him, and the firewood pile by the door won’t last forever. “Any chance we’re getting out of here before March?” Bucky calls. When Steve doesn’t answer, he looks at the bearskin rug for an answer. The bearskin rug looks back.

Finally, the wooden steps groan and Steve reemerges from the cellar, arms full of canned goods and—

“Sweet Mother Mary, is that cognac?” Bucky asks.

“It appears to be.” Steve sets the cans down on the dining table, then strides toward the couch, holding the bottle out for Bucky to inspect. “All yours, pal. I’ve got no use for it.”

“We’ll see about that,” Bucky says, half-under his breath, and tips the bottle toward Steve in salute before he starts peeling away the wrapping.

Steve raises one eyebrow, but turns away and shakes his head before Bucky can even ask _What_.

Steve tears open a few cans of potted meat with his bare hands and makes a half-hearted attempt to cook it over the fire before giving up and passing a plate to Bucky. They eat in silence, Steve never looking up from his food. Bucky supposes he’s back in soldier mode, planning out how they can possibly get to their extraction point in time for the backup rendezvous.

“Steve. Stevie, c’mere.”

Reluctantly, Steve heads toward the couch. Bucky pats the cushion beside him and motions for Steve to sit down, but with a shy smile, Steve sinks down to the floor instead.

“What’s the matter?” Bucky asks. “Youre going all quiet on me.”

“What’s there to say? ‘Sorry I let you get shot and then got us snowed in god knows where.’’” Steve shrugs. “Is that what you want to hear?”

“No.”

Steve glances back at him, eyes soft.

“I don’t need any apologies from you.” Bucky’s pulse is buzzing in his ears as he rests one hand on Steve’s shoulder. Steve tenses, but when Bucky doesn’t pull away, he relaxes into the touch. “I’m right where I wanna be.”

Steve swallows out loud. “Buck . . .”

Bucky’s kneading into Steve’s shoulder, but at the warning tone in his voice, he stops. “Sorry.” His hand drops down alongside the couch. “Guess that isn’t what you wanna hear.”

Steve doesn’t answer for a long while. He’s staring at his hands laced in his lap, and Bucky suddenly just wants to run far, far away. He curls back into the couch and draws the blankets tight around him.

“I don’t understand,” Steve says finally. “Lately, when it’s just you and me, it seems like . . . you wanna treat me like one of your girls.” His voice breaks. “I dunno if it’s just because there aren’t any better options around, but—”

“Jesus, Steve.” Bucky winces. “That’s a terrible thing to say.”

“Well, what am I supposed to think?” Steve says hotly. He’s sitting upright now, spine hardened with indignation. “When you’re—you’re _flirting_ with me because there aren’t any dames around for you to break their hearts—”

Bucky barked a dry, bitter laugh. “You don’t fucking get it.” His face was burning up, embarrassment and shame far stronger than the cognac in his blood.

Steve shrinks back into himself. “I dunno what more there is to get.”

Bucky’s hand has curled into a fist, but he forces himself to relax it. Carefully, he reaches out and brushes his fingers against Steve’s cheek. Steve’s eyes lid, and he trembles, lips parting, before his face tightens once more.

“There’s only ever been you, Stevie.” Bucky swallows. “Believe me, I wish it weren’t so. I’ve tried so damn hard. But it’s true.”

Steve fixes his gaze on Bucky’s, and it’s painful how badly Bucky wants to think that look in his eyes is hope. But he never dared to think Steve could feel the same way about him. No sense in hoping for it now.

“I didn’t—mean to fall in love with you,” Bucky mumbles, and pulls his hand back. “I—I don’t mean to put that on you. It’s all my fault.”

“Buck.”

Bucky glances back up.

“Are you teasing me right now?” Steve asks. “Because if you are, if this is another one of your jokes—”

“Do I look like I’m fuckin’ joking?” Bucky snaps. “Christ, Steve, I’m baring my soul to you here—”

Steve holds his gaze, the firelight dancing in his eyes. His expression is dark, steely; it’s the moment before he unchains himself and gives in to rage.

No, not quite rage. But something—anything—strong.

And then Steve’s lips are on his. Bucky startles, but surrenders—to their surprising softness, to Steve’s mouth working so gently and carefully to slot against his. But Bucky’s got no patience for tenderness. He’s craved this for as long as he can remember, and he isn’t about to let it slip away.

Bucky rolls forward and snatches Steve by the collar of his thermal undershirt, never letting their mouths part. He parts the seam of Steve’s mouth and grazes their tongues together, pulling them together with a burning hunger. Steve moans into his mouth as Bucky’s fingers dig into his collar and Bucky trembles, his bones suddenly like jelly.

“Believe me now?” Bucky whispers, as Steve pulls back to gasp for breath. His leg cries out in protest as he rocks closer toward Steve, but he ignores it.

Steve rests his forehead against Bucky’s with a tired laugh. “I just figured it was more of our games. That there was no way you actually . . . felt the way I did.”

Bucky’s chest tightens at his words. With his thumb, he tips Steve’s chin up so their eyes meet again. “And what way is that?”

Steve’s face darkens. “Like you were my sunrise and my sunset.” He laughs at himself, embarrassed. “And when you went to war, like someone had cut out half of my heart. I would have done anything to come with you.” He glances down at his new body, his new muscles. “Guess I kinda did.”

Bucky keeps stroking the underside of Steve’s jaw with his thumb. “And here I thought you tried to enlist all those goddamn times coz you wanted to be a big hero.”

“Wanted to be _your_ hero,” Steve mumbles.

Bucky cups his face in his hands. “Always have been.”

When they kiss again, Bucky is leaning into him, precariously balanced on the sofa’s edge, but then Steve is nibbling at his lower lip and the wonderful sensation sends him rolling right off the couch. He topples onto Steve, ignoring the pain in his calf, and pins Steve to the floor. Not that he’s trying much to fight back.

“Even when you were nothing but a tiny ball of fire.” Bucky kisses at Steve’s jaw, just beneath his ear, as Steve’s legs part to let Bucky cradle between them. “Not complaining that you can finish your own fights now, but . . .”

Steve shivers as Bucky closes his mouth around Steve’s neck and sucks, hard. The fire’s warm at Bucky’s back, but it’s nothing compared to Steve’s hot-blooded body pulsing beneath him, his salty warm skin, his thickly contoured muscles just beneath the thermal weave of his shirt and longjohns. He runs his hand down the length of Steve’s torso and holds tight at his hip as he lavishes Steve’s neck with his mouth, wondering whether he can make any kind of lasting mark.

“C’mere.” Steve tugs Bucky up by his dogtag chain. “I’m not done tasting you.”

Bucky suppresses a whimper as Steve’s words shoot straight to his dick. “Sweetheart, you can taste me all you like.”

Steve wraps his arms around Bucky’s shoulder, still cradling him between his thighs, then rolls Bucky onto his back. They’re on the bearskin rug now, Bucky pinned under Steve’s immense weight, yet Steve’s holding him so gently he hardly feels it. Except for the heat building and building on their skin where it meets. And Steve’s thighs trapping his own. And Steve’s mouth, hot and sharp on his, taking him apart piece by piece as he paints Bucky’s mouth with his tongue.

“Christ,” Bucky breathes, when Steve lets up again. “I shoulda known you’d be just as bossy in bed.”

Steve grins and feathers a kiss against Bucky’s cheek, his golden lashes brushing Bucky’s skin like a whisper. “Is that where we are?”

“Only if you want it to be.” Bucky reaches down to adjust himself, but there’s no hiding his erection, not with Steve practically sitting on top of it. His heart is in his throat as he looks up at this beautiful man—this _god_ —on top of him. “I meant what I said, though. You’re it for me, doll.” He smiles, and it hurts with how good it feels to be talking to Steve like this. “So there’s no need to rush, if you’re not . . .”

Steve kisses him again, right on his pulse. “I don’t see this blizzard letting up anytime soon.” He tugs down the V neck of Bucky’s thermal shirt and kisses him beneath his collarbone, lingering for a moment with his tongue, and Bucky arches his back with a gasp at the warm press of heat. “So we can go as slow as you want.”

Before Bucky can answer, Steve’s hand, his big strong palms, are coaxing his thermal shirt up over his hips, his ribs. He raises his shoulders up just enough that Steve can yank it the rest of the way off, shivering a little as the cool air glides over his bared chest. “It’s been a long day,” Bucky warns, feeling suddenly shy. “I’m probably not smelling too daisy-fresh.”

In response, Steve buries his face in Bucky’s armpit, then kisses his way toward one nipple. “You smell good to me.” Eyes closed, his expression studious, he darts his tongue out, just barely tapping against Bucky’s nipple, and Bucky sucks in through his teeth. Steve grins and swirls his tongue around the hardened bud, then works his mouth to suck at it, Bucky’s soft whimpers only making him work harder. Finally, he opens his eyes and looks up at Bucky, his tongue still flattened against Bucky’s skin. “Taste good, too.”

Bucky swears under his breath and laces one hand through Steve’s hair. “You play dirty,” he says. “The hell’d you learn to torture me so good?”

“Watching you, mostly.” Steve bites into Bucky’s chest, and Bucky yelps until he lets go. “All the times you’d neck with some girl out on the fire escape, thinking no one could see . . .”

“Christ, Stevie.” Bucky tightens his grip on Steve’s hair, fingers massaging his scalp. “Half the time—more than half—I was pretendin’ it was you.”

“Isn’t nice to lie.” Steve kisses his sternum, then starts to lap his way down Bucky’s stomach, tongue feathering through the dark line of hair that disappeared into the waistband of his longjohns.

“Hey. Hey.” Bucky yanks Steve’s head up to make him look at him. “I told you. No games.” His voice wavers. “I was in love with you before I knew what love was.”

Steve smiles shyly, but then, with those same precious pink lips, he lowers his head again and gathers the waistband of Bucky’s longjohns in his teeth.

Bucky cries out as Steve eases the longjohns down over his hips, down his thighs, then finally strips them off completely. His cock is resting flush against his stomach, dark and firm, and Steve just stares at it for a moment. Then Steve licks his palm and gathers Bucky’s shaft into his hand.

“This feel okay?” Steve whispers as he makes a slow, careful pump of his fist.

Bucky tightens his hold on Steve’s hair with one hand while he fists the other against the rug beneath him. “Fuck,” he breathes. “Bit of an understatement there, baby.”

“Yeah?” Steve grins wryly. “How about this?”

Steve scoots down onto his stomach, his head between Bucky’s thighs, and taps the flat of his tongue against the damp tip of Bucky’s head.

“You little shit—” Bucky starts to stifle himself, but what’s the point? They aren’t in Brooklyn, where he’d bury his cries into a pillow or his own arm while he jerked himself and pretended it was Steve’s hand instead. “Oh god, Steve, please—”

“What was that about taking it slow again?” Steve grins, then presses his thumb against the underside of Bucky’s shaft, just below the head. “Don’t you wanna savor this?”

Steve flicks his tongue against Bucky’s slit and Bucky keens, his hips bucking upward. Steve clamps down on his hip with his free hand to hold him still as he carefully closes his mouth just around Bucky’s head.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you feel like goddamn heaven—please, Stevie—”

Steve pushes his hand down to the base of Bucky’s cock and slides his mouth down with it, so moist and hot and firm as a fist around him. Steve’s lashes flutter as he works his tongue back and forth along his shaft, and Bucky can’t help but grip tighter at his hair, at the rug, unbearable pleasure shooting through his veins. His whole body is vibrating, yet all he can feel is the hot swell of Steve’s mouth on him, all his senses focusing in one spot as he fights and fights to keep himself from unraveling.

“Steve, sweetheart—I ain’t gonna last long if you keep this up—”

Steve starts to ease his mouth on, glancing up at Bucky through those filthy lashes of his, then slides his mouth back down.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Bucky clenches his thighs, but Steve forces him back down. Slowly—excruciatingly slow—he eases off of Bucky’s cock with a wet sound.

“Now, Buck.” Steve kisses the inside of Bucky’s thigh. “What would Sister Teresa say if she heard you taking the Lord’s name in vain?”

Bucky eases his grip on Steve’s hair and rubs his thumb along Steve’s cheek. Lets himself graze that strong cheekbone and the mole just under it, so boyish and soft. “I think that’d be the least of her concerns here.”

“Mm. Maybe so.” Steve sits up on his knees and pulls his shirt off overhead, revealing that hairless expanse of muscled ridges, so firm and gleaming it makes Bucky’s mouth water. “I was never so good at the letter of the Gospel. More the spirit of the thing, I guess.”

“If that ain’t the most Steve Rogers shit I ever heard.”

Bucky reaches forward and trails his fingers down Steve’s chest and stomach. His head feels dizzy from his blood’s determined rush southward, but Steve is the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen, and he wants to savor every last bit of it. His fingers linger at the waistband of Steve’s longjohns for a moment longer before he drags them lower to trace the outline of Steve’s erection.

“C’mon, sweetheart.” Bucky curves his palm over Steve’s cock and rubs it up and down, just barely making contact. “Let me see you.”

Steve smiles, blushing, and works his way out of the longjohns. Bucky lets his breath out in a low whistle at the sight of Steve’s dick, bright red and thicker than he’d even imagined.

“Yeah, the, uh . . . the serum . . .” Steve gestures uselessly, then trails off.

“Don’t care.” Bucky snatches Steve by the chain of his dogtags and pulls him back down. “Wanted you before, and I want you now.”

“You mean it?” Steve whispers, as Bucky swirls his tongue against Steve’s ear.

“Always have.” Bucky grazes his teeth against Steve’s earlobe, and Steve’s hold slips as he drops further down on top of Bucky. “Always will.”

Steve pins Bucky’s hips between his thighs again and rocks his hips forward. Bucky’s mouth rounds, wordless, at the spark of friction as their cocks brush together. “Feel good?” Steve asks softly, and Bucky nods, breathless. “Me too.”

Bucky’s leg is starting to throb, but he forces the pain out of his mind and focuses on Steve’s weight on top of him, on the damp tendril of golden hair curling down Steve’s forehead, on his swollen red mouth. He kisses Steve again and tastes his own salt on Steve’s lips. It tastes indescribably dirty, and Bucky just wants to keep tasting it, keep pressing their lips together until they bruise, until everything else just melts away.

But then Steve reaches between them and takes a firm hold of both of their cocks, and with one steady thrust, he strikes a match inside Bucky and everything is engulfed.

“Fuck.” Bucky sucks down fresh air as the sparks subside. “Okay, pal, I know you didn’t learn that from watching me—”

“Just had a hunch.” Steve kisses Bucky’s temple. “Looks like I was right.”

Bucky pistons his hips against Steve’s in response and the way Steve’s head tips back, his flushed mouth gaping, is almost as good as the wave of pleasure it sends through him.

Steve tightens his grip, and begins to pump his fist around them both as they thrust together, a steady, rocking rhythm. Steve’s eyes are locked onto Bucky’s and it feels like Steve’s pulling him open, peering right into his heart. Like all the bullshit he’s told himself and others for years is gone and there’s nothing but his helpless, desperate love for Steve, for his fierceness, for his too-big heart. Bucky’s breath hitches as he toes the edge, as Steve’s body grows heavier, sharper, hotter, and their dogtags are tangling together and Bucky’s nails are digging into Steve’s firm ass, guiding him on, keeping them moving as one—

And then Bucky is unraveling. He’s coming onto his stomach, onto Steve’s hands, and Steve’s thighs clench around him as he starts to spill too. He’s spent, unspooling, and he latches his lips onto Steve’s, desperate, needing to cling to him so he won’t be carried off.

“I fucking love you,” Bucky breathes, as he goes limp in Steve’s arms.

“Love you too, Buck.” Steve slackens on top of him. “Always have.”

His body is pulsing, and he can feel their hearts thudding together as his climax starts to subside. Lazy, weary, Bucky peppers kisses to the underside of Steve’s jaw before he sinks down into the warmth of the rug and the fire and the goddamned miraculous body pressed on top of him.

Steve slips over to Bucky’s side and curls around him, but can’t keep from kissing at Bucky’s shoulder and chest as Bucky pulls Steve into his arms. “Y’know,” Steve murmurs, “I’m sure there’s an actual bedroom we could move to. If you want.”

Bucky laughs and presses Steve closer to him. “I dunno, I’m feelin’ very high society. Spread out on a rug in front of a roaring fire, sippin’ cognac at a chalet with my best guy . . .”

“Just your best guy, huh?” Steve asks, one eyebrow raised.

“Only guy.” Bucky kisses his cheek. “Only everything.”

“Be that as it may . . .” Steve reluctantly pushes himself onto his elbow. “Doesn’t change the fact that we’re miles from our checkpoint.”

“What, you in some kind of hurry?” Bucky asks.

Steve trails his fingertips down Bucky’s chest. “Well, not exactly.”

“And the cellar? How’s it looking?”

Steve chews on his lower lip. “We’re probably good for a day or so. Maybe two.” He glances down. “Not sure if that gives your leg enough time to heal up, but . . .”

Bucky flexes his foot again. He can barely feel the hitch, but he’s probably still just riding the blissful wave of his orgasm. Nobody but Captain America could heal up that fast, after all. “If you give me a day or two, I think I’ll be all right.”

Steve smiles and brings a hand up to Bucky’s cheek to cradle his face. God, but it burns so good to see that grin on Steve’s mouth—even more to see it focused on him. “Well.” Steve brushes his forehead against Bucky’s. “Since we got a little more time . . .”

Bucky tangles his legs around Steve’s and pulls him down for another kiss, which Steve happily indulges. More than a little peck, it’s full of promise and warmth, and already Bucky can feel that sweet knife-edge of lust pressing into him again as he drinks Steve down. He grips Steve by the ass and presses them together before he breaks the kiss and nuzzles at the crook of Steve’s neck.

“Let it snow.”

**Author's Note:**

> [Forever crying about sad grandpas on tumblr](http://starandshield.tumblr.com)


End file.
